


The Sensational Six

by assassins_heir (lykxxn)



Series: Butterflies & Hurricanes [1]
Category: Assassin's Heir, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Original Work
Genre: Catholic Character, Child Neglect, Daemons, Female Jewish Character, French Characters, Gen, Half-Blood Wizards, Hogwarts, Hogwarts First Year, Jewish Character, Male Character of Color, Poverty, Priests, Purebloods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9913958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lykxxn/pseuds/assassins_heir
Summary: It's 1988. Princess Beatrice is almost a month old; the IRA is still in Ireland; the Albert Dock has been reopened, and unemployment is at its lowest.But for six eleven-year-olds, none of this matters anymore, because they're about to start their first year at Hogwarts. Suddenly they'll find that they're more interested in talking portraits, ghosts, and turning animals into goblets. But a huge danger lurks amongst them; it may just be a talking portrait that helps them find it.





	1. Jessica

In the Reuter household, father and daughter were eating breakfast together when a _clunk!_ sounded in the hallway. ‘The post’s here!’ cried Mr. Reuter’s ten-year-old daughter, and she sprang up from her seat to collect it.

She picked up the letters. There were three. One was addressed to her father, and two to her. One was clearly a birthday card—she was going to be eleven in less than a week—and the other, she wasn’t sure about. The envelope read:

_Miss J. Reuter_

_The Second Bedroom_

_21 Marigold Close_

_Golders Green_

_London_

She hesitated. How did this person know which bedroom she was in? She certainly didn’t recognise the handwriting.

The girl’s dæmon shifted nervously on her shoulder. He was in the form of a dormouse, and his fur bristled at the idea that someone they didn’t know was sending them letters.

‘Uh, Dad?’ she began shakily, making her way back into the dining room. She pushed the envelope across the table towards him.

Mr. Reuter’s brows furrowed in confusion as he read the address. His fox-dæmon had a look of worry upon her face, and she kept glancing at the girl and dæmon across the table. Mr. Reuter tore open the envelope and pulled out two thin pieces of paper. Slowly, he began to read the first one aloud.

 

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Ms. Reuter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

 ‘What does it mean? Is it true?’ piped up the daughter in curiosity. Her dæmon, whose name was Arik, had become a canary and was staring eagerly at Mr. Reuter for answers.

Mr. Reuter expression resembled something that seemed like understanding. ‘I should have known,’ he said softly. ‘I should have known all along.’ He paused as his fox-dæmon adjusted herself on his lap.

‘Yes, you should,’ she murmured, and he pretended not to hear.

‘Rachel said that you would be a witch,’ he said.

‘My mum?’ asked his daughter gently.

‘Yes, Jessica. That’s who it all starts with, really. Your mother was a witch, and she went to this school too. I should have told you, but I could not tell you very much about it. It is a world that I have been kept from.’

‘Why?’ pressed Jessica curiously. ‘Aren’t you like my mum, then?’

Mr. Reuter shook his head. ‘I am what they call a Muggle. A non-magical person, if you will.’ He scanned the second sheet of paper and passed it to Jessica. ‘In the summer I’ll take you to get your school supplies and,’ his mouth curved upwards in a smile, ‘your wand.’

‘Wand?’ echoed Jessica. She had so many questions! ‘You mean I get an actual _wand_?’

Mr. Reuter chuckled. ‘Yes, and robes.’

‘It says something here about a pet ...’

‘We’ll see. I remember Rachel having a cat when she was at school,’ said Mr. Reuter. ‘She never said much about Hogwarts.’

‘Maybe it was to stop you feeling sad that you couldn’t be a wizard,’ suggested Jessica gently. ‘Dad, can I get an owl?’

‘Like I said, we’ll see.’

Jessica’s eyes scanned further down the page. ‘Broomsticks?’ she questioned excitedly. ‘What— _real_ broomsticks? We get to learn to _fly_?’

Mr. Reuter laughed to himself. ‘You have no idea,’ he murmured, and his fox-dæmon made a noise that sounded like a scoff.

* * *

Late that night, when Jessica was curled up in bed, she turned to Arik, and nudged his white ferret fur excitedly. ‘Just imagine,’ she whispered dreamily, ‘this time next year we’ll be at Hogwarts, learning magic!’

Arik nuzzled her cheek gently. ‘It’s a shame we don’t know more about it,’ he whispered in return.

‘Still, I’m sure we’ll get to know more when we get our supplies. I bet there’s a book on it somewhere.’

Jessica adjusted the quilt to cover her shoulders. ‘‘What did Dad say non-magical people were called? Muggles?’ Her hand felt for her dæmon in the dark. ‘Yeah, well there’s got to be magical kids who live in the Muggle world, right? So we won’t be the only ones who don’t know as much.’

‘I hope so. I’d hate to feel like we’re left out.’

A noise startled them, and Arik bit back a squeak, diving in between the covers. Although the bedroom door was closed, they were sure that they could feel the fox-dæmon’s eyes lingering suspiciously towards their room.

‘Let’s just shut up now,’ hissed Jessica, ‘or we’ll be in trouble tomorrow. It’s late.’

So Arik, still in his ferret form, curled up against her chest, and the two tried to get to sleep, both dreaming of witches and flying and magic.


	2. Montague

It was late October, and Halloween was drawing near. Montague Peltier hated Halloween. He was never allowed to join in trick-or-treating, and often he and his dæmon would sit in their room, fruitlessly wishing to be with all the other children, sharing and trading sweets. His mother said that Halloween was for greedy children. Montague didn’t dare argue.

At that current moment, it was a Tuesday afternoon, and Montague was walking home from school, mentally counting down the days until his birthday. His dæmon was in the form of a ginger tabby, and leaves crunched underneath her paws. ‘I’m excited for Beauxbatons,’ she said in a low voice. They lived in a Muggle area, so they had to be careful of who heard them.

‘Me too,’ replied Montague, glancing quickly behind him to see if anyone was following. They weren’t. ‘There’s a chance we might go to Hogwarts, y’know. We were born here, Yseult. We might gits a letter.’

Yseult meowed in indifference. ‘We’re learning magic, either way. And getting away from this hellhole.’ She turned into a seagull and flew twice around his head before settling on his shoulder. ‘Do we know anything about Hogwarts?’

‘Well, erm,’ Montague stopped as they came to a road. ‘There are four houses, but that’s about it.’ They crossed, and Yseult nipped his ear gently.

‘We won’t be the only ones who don’t know much about it, anyway. Think of the Muggle-borns. They’ll know hardly anything.’

Montague found this strangely comforting, and Yseult sensed this. ‘I bet we’ll meet loads of people who don’t know much about our world. We can tell them the stuff we know, and go to the library to find out about what we don’t.’

‘But, Yseult, I ain’t –’

‘Very good, I know,’ she finished gently. ‘But if we practice reading until September, we can get better.’

They approached the house, and lingered anxiously outside it. It seemed quiet. Hesitantly, Montague opened the door and tried not to slam it as he entered. He crept past the living room and up into his bedroom. Then he took his backpack from off his back and tipped the contents onto the bed. Yseult changed into a red squirrel and jumped from his shoulder. Montague began to sort the things he had emptied from his bag, and salvaged half a pencil, a leaky pen, a book with a lot of pages missing, and his crumpled-up maths homework. Quietly he picked up the book and examined the cover. It was the only book he owned, and it was one he had read many times before. He didn’t even need the missing pages anymore. Yseult enjoyed changing forms to look like the many rabbit characters in the book. It helped when Montague had trouble picturing the characters in his head.

Quickly he shoved the book back into his bag, along with the pen and pencil. He tried to fix the state of his incomplete homework; at least if he looked at it, that was something, right? It wasn’t as if he could complete it anyway. He didn’t have any other pens or pencils.

‘Montague!’

Startled, Montague screwed up the homework. ‘ _Maman_ ,’ he said quietly to Yseult, who shuddered.

Quickly she changed form to resemble a white and brown cat. Montague had seen this form before, in a book about cats in the school library. He relaxed a little. It was a French form, that’d do.

Slowly he made his way down the stairs, Yseult trotting at his heels.

‘ _Maman_?’ he questioned.

Her answer was in French. They had to speak French at home otherwise he’d get locked in the cupboard until his father went to work the next morning.

‘Go and help your _papa_ in the kitchen,’ she commanded. Her head appeared in the doorway, and her skunk-dæmon hissed intimidatingly.

Instinctively, Yseult pressed herself against Montague’s legs, but the boy remained calm. ‘ _Oui, Maman_.’

He quickly made his way into the kitchen as both woman and dæmon returned to their seat.

‘ _Papa_?’ said Montague quietly.

The man in question was washing dishes. His wolfhound-dæmon had perked up her ears when the two arrived and she was now snuffling Yseult’s chest.

‘ _Bonjour_ , my son. You can put away those plates I’ve finished.’

‘ _Oui, Papa_ ,’ agreed Montague reluctantly. He wished he was eleven already. He wished he were away at Beauxbatons or Hogwarts. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with his parents.

He spent around thirty minutes cleaning and drying pots and pans because his father decided he had much more important things to do. Montague wasn’t sure what those things were. However, he heard some loud noises upstairs and he was tempted to see what it was. Some instinct told him not to, and the look on Yseult’s face told him it wasn’t worth it either, so he stayed in the kitchen and finished putting away some cutlery.

Then he peered into the fridge, took out two strawberry yoghurts and a pre-made corned beef sandwich, and hurried upstairs.

The noises were still there so he slammed the door behind him. Yseult curled up on the bed and watched Montague bite into the sandwich. It wasn’t exactly fresh, but it tasted good and that was all that mattered. Yseult changed into a brown rabbit and snuffled at Montague’s knee as he ate. ‘Merlin, I can’t wait to get out of here,’ she breathed.

‘Yeah,’ said Montague through a mouthful of corned beef. ‘At least at school we’ll be anythin’ we wanna be. We can do whatever we want.’

‘We’ll be free,’ agreed Yseult.

They sat on the bed, Montague cross-legged as he finished the sandwich and reached out for one of the yoghurts. ‘Aw, I forgits the spoon,’ he said softly, but pulled off the lid anyway. He dipped a finger in and sucked off the yoghurt. Yseult couldn’t bear to watch. ‘You’re a man, Montague, _please_.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, sucking some more yoghurt from his fingers, ‘a man without a spoon.’

Yseult sighed and shook her head.

Once Montague had cleared the pot, he wiped his fingers on his shirt and pulled some pyjamas out of the drawer. It wasn’t late, not yet, but he wasn’t exactly going anywhere and maybe if he was quiet his parents wouldn’t ask him to do any more chores. He just hoped they wouldn’t ask him to go out in his pyjamas. That would be embarrassing, not to mention cold in the autumn winds.

His pyjamas were old and faded, and they were short at his arms and legs. He’d long grown out of liking _The Herbs_ but the pyjamas were clean and therefore he wasn’t going to complain.

He wriggled into bed as Yseult became a grey wildcat and lay next to him. She purred quietly, and Montague put one arm around his dæmon. The light flickered, and they felt themselves being lulled to sleep by its rhythm.

* * *

 

A loud tap on the window woke Montague, and he groggily sat up in bed. A large tawny owl was tapping on the window with its beak, an envelope in its talons. Immediately he sprung to life, knocking Yseult to the side. She yowled irritably, becoming a pigeon so she could fly up to the windowsill. Montague opened the window and took the envelope from the owl’s talons. Slowly he turned it over, once, twice, and read the writing on the back.

_Mr M. Peltier_

_The Spare Room_

_43 Cosmas Drive_

_Camberley Heatherside_

_Surrey_

Excitedly he turned it over. Yseult became a wildcat again and rubbed her head on his elbow. ‘Go on,’ she urged, ‘open it.’

Montague ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside.

 

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Peltier,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

‘Hogwarts,’ breathed Montague, almost hardly daring to believe it, ‘we’re goin’ to Hogwarts.’


	3. Richard

It was mid-December, and school had finally broken up for the winter. A heavy snow had fallen across the village of Langthorpe, and many schoolchildren were enjoying the rare sight, one of those children being a boy by the name of Richard Hardy. He was walking home with a few other friends, and his dæmon was in the form of a husky, nudging the snow with her nose.

‘Hey, Rick!’ called one of his friends, and Rick turned to face him. Something cold hit him in the shoulder, and he looked down, grinning.

‘Hey!’ he cried, brushing the snow from his coat. He reached down into the snow and made a sturdy ball. Hurling it into the air, he managed to hit his friend in the back of the head. ‘Gotcha!’

Grinning, the boy shook the snow from his fair hair. ‘Hey, Lexie, come and play!’

A girl was stood a little way off from the two, her robin-dæmon perched anxiously on her shoulder. She was clearly younger than the boys, and she had her auburn hair in two pigtails. ‘Aw, but Mike—’

She was interrupted by a loud _splat!_ on her shoulder. Her robin-dæmon squeaked in surprise and fluttered up above her head. ‘Rick!’ she cried.

Rick grinned, and began to make another snowball. Lexie grinned slyly, cupping some snow into her small hands. Mike had also begun to join in, his dæmon taking the form of a Labrador.

Their hands were freezing through their gloves and there was snow in their hair, but they kept going. Lexie squealed as Mike pelted her back with snow. Rick laughed, dropping snow down the back of Mike’s shirt.

‘Well, well, well,’ said a snide, nasal voice, ‘what do we have here?’ A tall, blonde boy sneered down at the trio. His dæmon took the form of a jaguar, teeth bared and snarling.

‘Go away, Hayden,’ snapped Mike, his dæmon immediately becoming a fox, her hackles raised. Rick frowned, and his dæmon quickly took the form of a raven, fluttering to his shoulder.

‘Sticking up for the little half-breed, now, are we?’

‘Don’t say that!’ cried Lexie. Her dæmon was now a polecat, and both were as furious as Mike and his fox-dæmon.

Hayden eyed up the trio, and he looked down at his dæmon, scoffing. ‘Come on, Venetia,’ he said, ‘this scum isn’t worth our time.’

As Hayden and Venetia stalked off, Rick frowned. He scuffed his shoe against the snow, making a little dint.

‘Ignore him,’ said Mike firmly. ‘He’s just looking to upset you, and you know it.’

‘Look, I—I think Wendy and I had better get home—’

‘Then we’ll come with you,’ said Mike firmly.

The three walked to Rick’s house in silence. Wendy had become an arctic fox, rubbing her fur against Rick’s leg in an attempt to comfort them both. Rick considerably brightened as the walk went on, and then he smiled widely. His father was stood in the doorway of their house, a cigarette in one hand. His black ferret-dæmon was curled around his neck, staring down at Wendy with an odd sort of curiosity.

‘Afternoon, son,’ he said softly, puffing at the cigarette. ‘How was school?’

‘It was great!’ grinned Rick. ‘We watched _Annie_ , didn’t we, Mike?’

Mike nodded in agreement, and his dæmon, who was a Labrador again, wagged her chocolate-coloured tail.

‘I’m glad you had a good day,’ said Mr. Hardy. He dropped his cigarette and put it out with his shoe, and when he spoke, his voice was lowered and somewhat serious. ‘There’s someone here to see you, Richard.’

‘Oh,’ said Rick softly, and Wendy’s fur bristled against his leg. ‘Well, I’ll call for you tonight, Mike. You too, Lexie.’

Lexie grinned at him, her polecat-dæmon wrapped around her legs, staring curiously at Wendy. ‘Bye, Rick,’ she said softly.

‘Yeah, see you,’ replied Rick, giving a small wave. He followed his father inside, and he asked curiously, ‘Who’s here?’

Mr. Hardy nodded in the direction of the dining room. ‘Why don’t you go in and see?’ His ferret-dæmon was somewhat tense on his shoulder, and Wendy became a mongoose. Rick picked her up and, with Wendy in his arms, opened the door.

Sat around the dining table was his mother, moving a strand of fair hair out of her eyes as she read something, and next to her, Father Bellamy, who was talking to an old woman he had never seen before.

‘Hello, Richard,’ said Bellamy softly. The elderly priest smiled warmly. ‘Come and sit down.’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Rick shakily as he pulled out a chair, Wendy jumping onto the table as he did so. Had he done something wrong? He’d read all his Bible stories and spoken at confession. Had he forgotten something?

‘Richard,’ said Bellamy, and he stopped for a moment, smiling to the woman. Her cat-dæmon cocked his head to one side. ‘Richard, do you believe in magic?’

Rick stopped. He looked from his mother and her finch-dæmon, to Father Bellamy and his quoll-dæmon, and then to the mysterious woman and her cat-dæmon.

‘Well—well, I guess—’

Bellamy smiled, and he gently pushed a piece of paper towards Rick. ‘I’d like you to read this for me.’

Slowly, Rick took the paper. It was a letter. Wendy peered at it curiously, and he began to read it aloud.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Hardy,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

 

‘Who—what?’ Rick blurted out. A wizard? That couldn’t be true. He was just an ordinary boy. He couldn’t do magic. He didn’t even know _how_ to do magic. ‘No—no,’ he said quickly. ‘You must have gotten it wrong. I’m not a—a wizard. This letter _can’t_ be for me, Father.’

‘I assure you it is,’ said Bellamy firmly. ‘It has your name on the envelope.’ And then he passed it to Rick for further confirmation.

_Mr R. Hardy_

_The Second Bedroom_

_10 Lee Avenue_

_Langthorpe_

_North Yorkshire_

Rick hardly dared to believe it. ‘But—but _please_ Father, surely I _can’t_ —’

Bellamy raised his eyebrows. Still the child did not believe. ‘Very well, Richard. But tell me just one thing: have you ever made anything strange happen, when you were afraid or angry, maybe?’

Slowly, Rick’s eyes widened. One time he’d made Hayden’s drink spill everywhere, without really meaning to. He hadn’t been sure how to explain it; he just knew he’d done it. Another time Hayden was throwing food at him and he’d suddenly been on the roof. He’d been in so much trouble, and his father had been furious with him for lying, but it was the truth: he and Wendy had just _appeared_ there.

He looked up at Bellamy, who had a satisfied smile on his face. ‘Didn’t I tell you so?’ he asked, and then nodded towards the woman. ‘This is Professor McGonagall. She teaches at Hogwarts; she’s the one who delivered your letter.’

‘Are you a wizard too, Father?’ asked Rick softly.

‘Oh, goodness, no,’ breathed the priest. ‘I’m what you call a Squib. My parents were magical—well, my mother in my case—but I’m not.’ And he grimaced.

‘Come June we can go to Diagon Alley and get your school supplies,’ he said, quickly changing the subject. ‘Professor McGonagall will come with you.’

‘Will—will you show me some magic, please?’ asked Rick quickly.

McGonagall smiled. ‘Of course,’ and she took a long stick from her robe—Rick assumed it was a robe; witches wore robes, right?—pocket and said something in a language Rick didn’t understand. All of a sudden, the pot plant on the dining table turned into a hamster.

‘Oh my God!’ he cried without thinking.

‘Language,’ said a gruff voice sternly from the doorway.

‘Sorry Dad,’ said Rick quickly, ‘but _look_! It’s a _hamster_!’

Mr. Hardy chuckled. ‘Believe me, son, I’m as amazed as you are.’

* * *

 

That night, Rick went to bed with some sort of sickly excitement in his stomach. ‘I’m a wizard,’ he whispered to Wendy.

‘I was there, you know,’ she murmured. She was curled against his chest in a ferret form that closely mimicked his father’s.

‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m just excited. I didn’t think magic was real, not really; not until today.’

The door opened with a squeak, and Mr. Hardy entered. Wendy curled up further into Rick’s chest.

‘Shouldn’t you be asleep?’ asked Mr. Hardy, but his tone was gentle.

‘I’m too excited,’ whispered Rick with a grin.

‘I’ll bet,’ said his father. ‘Well, how am I supposed to get you to sleep?’ He sat on the end of Rick’s bed, and his ferret-dæmon curled up next to Wendy.

Rick moved away a little; he was a little afraid of accidentally touching his father’s dæmon. Even though he knew his father would understand that it would’ve been an accident, he didn’t want to hurt him or make him sick—after all, he had heard stories of things like that happening when someone else touched your dæmon when you weren’t comfortable with it.

Mr. Hardy took a thick book from Rick’s shelf and opened it about halfway through. ‘I used to read this one to you all the time when you were younger,’ he said wistfully. ‘ _The Lion and the Unicorn_.’

Rick smiled brightly. ‘Oh, I remember this one!’ His father’s ferret-dæmon moved away so that Rick could lie in bed and snuggle up close to Wendy, who was now a fluffy sheepdog.

Mr. Hardy had hardly gotten through the first three pages when he looked to Rick, and saw his son sleeping, one arm draped over Wendy. Silently he rose from the bed and put away the book. ‘Come on, Esther,’ he said quietly.

Esther climbed onto his shoulder and the two made to leave. Mr. Hardy gave one last look at his son before he left. ‘Goodnight, son,’ he murmured.


	4. Jude

It was a warm March that year. The snow melted away as quickly as it had covered the north of the country. The city of Manchester had grown lively, and everyone was suddenly working twice as hard for the same money they already earned.

Unfortunately for young Jude Tobin, whose eleventh birthday was fast approaching, this applied to his mother. She was hardly ever home now and Jude, who worked after school at the corner shop most days, would be alone in the house until perhaps eleven o’clock, by which point he would be asleep on the sofa, waiting for his mum to come home.

This was what he was doing tonight. It was almost eight o’clock, and he was curled up on the sofa, his dæmon in the form of a leopard. ‘Minnie,’ he said quietly, blinking in the dull light, ‘you don’t think it’ll be late, d’you? When Mum gets home?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Minnie honestly. If Jude could count on his dæmon for anything, it would be honesty. ‘I hope not. Then we can tell her about the reading we did today.’

Jude felt a heavy weight upon his chest. ‘Come September we won’t be doing any more Hebrew lessons,’ he said mournfully. ‘Oh, I _wish_ we could go to the grammar school like everyone else!’

Minnie mewled in agreement. ‘Me too,’ she said. ‘But remember you’re not the only one not going. What about Noah and Tetty?’

Jude wrinkled his nose at the thought of the redheaded boy and his dæmon, who often took the form of a blackbird. ‘Yeh, but they’re moving to Ireland. They don’t count.’

Minnie adjusted herself so the two could curl up more comfortably. She rested her head against Jude’s chest. ‘I wish there was a way we didn’t have to go to the comprehensive.’

‘I know,’ murmured Jude. He patted his thickly curled black hair with one of his pale hands. ‘But Mum can’t afford it. We can barely afford to live _here_.’

‘I wish we had more money, then,’ grumbled Minnie.

Jude said nothing. He only nodded in agreement. The two were silent for a few minutes until he said, ‘Let’s play a game.’

Since Jude was an only child, he had no brothers or sisters to play with and often had only his dæmon for company.

‘What sort of game?’ asked Minnie. ‘Why bother, anyway? It’s getting darker and darker outside, and the torch ran out of batteries last week, so we won’t even be able to see the game.’

‘Then we’ll play a game in the dark,’ said Jude, trying to keep positive. ‘We don’t need to be able to see to play.’

‘Alright,’ she said with a soft meow. ‘What do you have in mind?’

‘Maybe we could be one o’ those posh customers Mum told us about,’ said Jude, grinning a little. ‘Hello,’ he said in his best posh voice, ‘I’m Mr. Posh Man and I would like a posh champagne for my posh wife and I.’

He sniggered a little. ‘Okay, now you ‘ave a go.’

Minnie mewed in amusement. She was just about to voice her reply when there was a loud squawk from the window.

‘Whassat?’ wondered Jude, getting up from the sofa and approaching the window. Minnie became a raven and flew up onto his shoulder, peering with curiosity out of the window.

A pair of beady eyes met hers, and she squawked in surprise. ‘It’s an owl!’

Screwing his nose up in confusion, Jude opened the window; the owl flew in and dropped something onto the sofa. Minnie became a snowy owl to mimic the owl’s markings.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

Jude warily picked it up. ‘It’s an envelope! Just a shame we can’t see anything.’

‘Mum’ll be home soon,’ Minnie assured him. The owl gave another squawk. ‘I think he’s hungry or something.’

‘Sorry buddy,’ Jude said quietly, reaching out his hand to give the owl a little pet, ‘I ent got anything fer you.’ He huffed, sitting back down. He shivered and Minnie, upon sensing it, became a polar bear and snuggled up to him. Jude wrapped his arms around his dæmon, burying his head in her fur.

The owl squawked and, obviously dissatisfied with his service, flew from the window and out of sight. Just at that point, when tears crept up into the corner of Jude’s eyes—he was cold, hungry, alone and in the dark—he heard a key turn in the lock of the front door.

‘Mum,’ he whispered, quickly pulling himself away from Minnie’s fur.

Ms. Tobin was a dark-haired, pale-faced woman and it was clear to see who Jude got his looks from. Her dæmon was a civet, and he was curled around her neck like a scarf. She held a box in her hands, and waved it excitedly at Jude. ‘Guess what I got! Lightbulbs!’

Jude grinned. ‘Mum! I’ve got something to show you! It’s a letter! There—there was this _owl_ , and ‘e dropped it off!’

‘Really?’ Ms. Tobin cocked her head to one side, and her dæmon perked up, jumping from her shoulders to sniff Minnie in curiosity. ‘Let me put these lightbulbs in and then we’ll ‘ave a look at it.’

Jude watched patiently as she screwed in one of the lightbulbs; Minnie became a chipmunk and curled up in one of Jude’s hands. They were both exhausted.

Light flooded the room. ‘There we go. Alright, let’s look at that letter of yours.’ Ms. Tobin sat down next to Jude, and he was finally able to read the address on the envelope.

_Mr Y. Tobin_

_The Second Bedroom_

_9 Daffodil Park_

_Manchester_

‘It’s fer you,’ his mum said gently. ‘Why don’t you open it?’

Jude, driven furiously by his curiosity, tore open the envelope.

 

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

‘What’s a supreme mugwump?’ Jude wondered aloud, but carried on reading.

 

_Dear Mr. Tobin,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

‘Is—is it true?’ asked Jude shakily. ‘Look Mum—it says I’m a wizard. I ent a wizard, am I?’ Minnie was suddenly alert, eyeing the civet-dæmon in curiosity.

Ms. Tobin had a knowing look in her eyes. ‘Just like your father,’ she said quietly. ‘’E was a wizard, too.’

‘M—my dad? A—a wizard? Is that why Grandpa doesn’t like ‘im?’

‘Well, that and the fact ‘e was Christian, but yeh. You’re a wizard, Jude. My wonderful little wizard.’

Jude could do nothing but beam.


End file.
